Missed
by November Rain 19
Summary: Another little 'What If' story. But this time the meeting isn't one left up to chance. A/O. Alex's POV.


**A/N: I wrote this forever ago. It was originally for someone who is no longer in my life. I see no reason to keep it hidden away in the depths of my hard drive any longer. IMO it is the most beautiful thing I have ever written. I thought it would fit A/O perfectly, and I modified it slightly as such. It's not the sequel to 'Auld Lang Sign,' though I am working on that. This one is from Alex's POV. **

**Warning: Depicts a woman attracted to another woman. If it is not your thing, turn back now.**

Missed

By Melissa

There would be this bar that you like, quiet and out of the way of the main craziness that is NY. One you would frequent usually after a long and trying day. You would sit in your favorite spot and have one of several favorite drinks. The waitresses, whose names you know by heart, would never tell you which drink they'd be bringing, but you were always happy with the selection.

I was all ready in the bar, perhaps in a corner booth, or off to the side out of you sight line. I only know of it because you mentioned it once upon time, years and years ago. I am dressed in a black cocktail dress with matching shoes. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail, exposing my neck, which is adorned by a simple silver chain. A small, black handbag sits on the seat beside me; my only company for the evening so far. I've done away with my glasses, my pale blue eyes no longer trapped behind thin walls of glass. I pretend to be more interested in the book I have brought than the goings on around me.

The lighting is soft and dim; music plays from a lonely set of speakers. Some form of jazz maybe; you would know better than I would.

You finger traces the edge of your glass as your body sways slightly to the music. The movement is barely noticeable. Your eyes are closed, savoring the sounds of the notes as they play, trying not to trip over one another.

One of the waitresses brings you a second drink, though you are not done with the first. She is smiling one of those warm, motherly grins that creates crinkles at the corners of her sparkling eyes. She's been working at this job longer than you've been alive, the stories written on her face and skin. She's a friend to everyone, reserving her love but for a scant few. You open your eyes and greet her smile with a small one of your own.

"I don't remember ordering another drink. Does it look like I need one?"

She chuckles, deep and throaty. "Wasn't my idea, hon. This is courtesy of one of our other patrons."

You glance around, perhaps hoping to catch the eye of whoever was attempting to gain your favor. There are enough people in the bar that it makes this task difficult. Your eyes pass over me, never giving me a moments notice. I've noticed you though. No one is returning your stare so you turn back to the waitress.

"I don't think so... Tell whoever sent it thanks, but no thanks."

"I would, but I'm not even sure who it is from. Besides, it's just a drink, not a promise. I watched the bartender make it from start to finish and no one has been near it but me." She takes the glass off her tray and sets it next to your elbow. "Just enjoy the music and your drink. You let me know if there's anything else you need."

You stare at the tall glass and stir it once with the little straw. "What it is anyway? A screwdriver?"

"You know, I'm not sure what the bartender called it. Its name is something that starts with a B. In any case, it's just orange juice and amaretto."

The waitress takes her leave. You pick up the new drink and sip it, letting the sweet and slightly tart coolness slide down your throat slowly. You set the drink back down, trying to remember when was the last time you had this particular concoction.

"Bocci ball," you say quietly to no one but yourself.

I was the one who had introduced you to that particular drink. It was after a particularly hard case in which the perp had eluded a trial thanks to loophole. We had attempted to drown our frustrations with this particular concoction.

Memories, maybe pleasant, maybe painful tug at the cobweb filled corners of your memory. The music fades away, though it grows no quieter.

I lay a slip of paper in my book to mark my place as I put it in my bag. Truthfully, I hadn't absorbed a single word from its pages. From the bag I withdraw a pale green rectangular object, resembling a credit card. I place it in front of myself, wondering briefly I have set myself on the path to making a huge mistake.

How do I approach you? How do I let you know I am here?

I ignore the little voice in my head telling me to kiss you senseless. Though there is nothing I would rather do.

I gather what little courage is left from my dwindling reserve and stand up. I make my ways towards you.

I place my hand on your right shoulder, allowing my fingertips to drag across the back of your neck and then letting my hand rest on your left shoulder as I come to stand slightly behind you. You jump slightly at the contact. It's a rare occasion when someone, anyone, can sneak up on you. You turn your head to see who has touched you.

Your startled gaze meets my unsure one; brown eyes meeting blue tentatively.

You squint slightly, different emotions flashing through the windows to your soul. There is perhaps a fraction of a second where you are unsure as to whom I am.

When you finally recognize me, I lean over and brush my lips against your cheek. It's swift and soft. It anyone had been watching, it would have appeared I was whispering to you. You do not back away, which I attribute to being frozen with shock. It's been a long time; an impossibly long time. My face remains mere inches from yours.

"I've missed you," I whisper as I place the plastic key card to my hotel room on the table in front of you.

I didn't wait for a reaction to what I said. I let my hand trail down your arm as I move away and towards the door.

As the door swings shut, your eyes linger on it for a moment; not completely sure of what just happened. Minutes pass before you finally look at the key card on the table. You pick it up, turning it over in your hands.

The number etched on it is 1014.

In retrospect, it was probably a foolish thing to do. You could have been married, or in a long term, committed relationship. I didn't even think to look for a ring on your finger.

I return to my hotel room, my heart trying to break through the confines of my ribcage. I enter the bathroom and splash freezing cold water upon my face. Maybe this was all a dream. The cold water does not shock me back to reality though.

I slip out of the cocktail napkin masquerading as a dress and let it drop to the floor. I replace it with a black tank top to match the black satin panties I was all ready wearing. I wrap myself in a giant terry cloth bathrobe and go sit on the corner of my bed.

Dialing room service I order a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream, and also a very large bottle of vodka. The first was comfort food. The second was because I feared that there would be brain cells that would remember how foolish I was this night, and they must be destroyed.

I flopped back onto the bed, starting up at the ceiling, waiting for my food and drink to arrive.

Approximately fifteen minutes later there was a soft knock at the door. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and got up to answer it.

Instead of my order, you were standing on the opposite side of the door.

* * *

Eventually, the stars dissolved in the sky, turning it from black to milky blue.

* * *

The End

**A/N: The number 1014 was the original airing date of the episode 'Lost.' And I may do a sequel to this one as well. Don't hate me. /grins/**


End file.
